Apparently I'm allergic to stress

What do bees and the writer of this blog have in common?

Hives.

The background: Just over two years ago, I was taking a shower and decided to use a product my wife had purchased; its primary ingredients were grape vines and other parts of this plant. When I got out of the shower, I looked in the mirror and decided that my face looked redder than usual. A little later, it felt hot and swollen. I went to the doctor a couple days later, a bit concerned since the red spots had spread all over my entire body. Two courses of steroids later, it was cleared up, but my doctor and I decided that maybe I should avoid grape products.

Now it just so happens that this outbreak occurred within a week or two of the following events: final grades and comments were due, my last week as a teacher at my old school, closing on the house we were selling, and moving to Canada. I ignored the possible correlation with my stress level.

To be fair to the grape-allergy theory, I had some "gastrointestinal distress" the couple of times I ingested something with grape in it, but no further outbreaks of hives. At least, not when I could track down anything with grape in it. There were two more incidents during my first year of grad school, but I couldn't discover anything grape-related. Again, head in the sand about stress.

In the past few months, I have slowly added small amounts of grape products back into my diet. Balsamic vinegar in salad dressings. Wine-based sauces. The occasional raisin in a baked good. So far so good.

A few days ago, my chest started to itch. I wondered if something had bitten me, refused to notice that it was spreading a bit. Yesterday, I started to admit that this looked like hives, that it was covering more than the initial spot, that my thighs--when viewed from the right angle in the shower--might have a few dots themselves.

This morning, denial was no longer an option. After a painful shower--I've scratched a little--I dug out some cortico-steroid cream we happened to have here (originally for Scooter, but my doctor had OK'ed me using it before). That went on my chest and down onto my breasts. I could see the red undertone starting on my arms, the worst of it in the crooks of my elbow. This afternoon, I bought some caladryl spray and am now pink.

Trillian confirmed for me this evening that the hives have started to recede. I could try to make the case that my interventions have had their intended effect, but Trillian would argue otherwise. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that we'll be writing an offer tomorrow. Or that even if this house falls through, we saw two others today that we'd be willing to make offers on. We think we can get this house down into our range; we know we can get our third choice.

Weight lifted, hives receding.

It is seriously time to take up yoga again.

I wish I had been wrong

Back in May, I wrote about visiting with old friends whose relationships I found distressing. Just so you don't have to click around right now, here's a relevant quote, from that post. It's a bit long, but I discovered when I started to write this new post that I'd already said many of the same things, in almost identical language:

We stayed with one friend I met during my first graduate program; between some of A.'s LiveJournal posts and a few hints around her house, we've suspected something is up in her relationship. A.'s wife was away on business, so we didn't have a chance to witness anything in particular--and we weren't going to push for information since A. tends to lay out everything she's willing to and nothing more. Not that I want to see things fall apart for her, but Trillian and I both are not very fond of her wife. A. left the area where she grew up and moved a long distance so her wife could take a job in the city we lived near at the time... and then her wife left that job shortly after they had bought a house that stretched them financially. The wife has since taken another job and (fingers crossed) appears prepared to stay there for a while. And A. has finally, after a couple years, found a job that comes close to matching what she did before she moved. The wife is anti-intellectual--I don't just mean stupid, but really against making an effort to learn new things. And now we suspect that she may be cheating on A. While our friend might be better off in the long run without her wife, I hate to think about the complications involved in the whole mess.

Today came the post we'd been expecting for a while: they're breaking up. Or really, have already broken up, though it's not clear to us whether or not this was the case when we visited (and then the cheating may not have been cheating). As I suspected, their financial situation with the house will keep both of them in it for a while. When we were visiting, it looked like one had taken over the downstairs, the other the upstairs, and they shared the kitchen.

I hate finding out that we were right, that Trillian and I read the subtle clues around the house correctly, that the hidden-between-the-lines frustration, even as her career and other aspects of her life seemed to be picking up, was the struggle to deal with a relationship that was falling apart. And it was painful to hear the defeat in her words, the failure she feels at letting go of this relationship when she had truly meant her commitment several years ago. I don't know anything about fault, if there is any, but feel pretty certain that my friend held onto the slightest glimmer of reconciliation longer than her ex--and I imagine that adds to her pain.

There is a part of me that wishes to reach through the distance and offer platitudes and comfort. But she has, for the moment, cut herself off from communication as much as possible. And I understand why and want to respect her desires in this. I completely understand the decision to lob this bomb out there and then duck away from the fallout. She will get no I-told-you-so's (especially since I didn't--Trillian and I kept our opinion to ourselves) or this-is-for-the-best's. Maybe chocolate.

Scooter shorts

Taking a day off from house-hunting, remembering that there is still one house we can see ourselves living in, focusing on other things.

I believe I've said before that time at Grandma and Grandpa's seems to be a magic tonic for Scooter. It brings out so many things that have been percolating under the surface. We've only been here a few days, but little things are already evident.

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Scooter's favorite toys here are his Lego Thomas trains. My mother-in-law asked me the other day how much longer he's likely to be interested in them, as Lego has come out with a few more trains now (of course, the old ones just aren't enough). I looked over at where Scooter's trains are set up and said, "I can see him playing with them for a long time to come."

But the play has changed. It used to be that I would set up the tracks, just so. And then put together the stations and other accessories, just so. Scooter would then run the trains around, reenacting Thomas stories.

His play has become less constricted. He still wanted the trains set up immediately upon our arrival, but didn't seem to mind that we didn't have all of the pieces right at hand. As I put together some of the characters, he started laying track and didn't seem to mind that it was a mish-mash instead of neat loops. And he's changed up the layout numerous times, occasionally asking me to create a loop here and there, but insisting on doing most of the building.

He has also become imaginative with the trains themselves. He had started this the last couple times we were here, mixing up the pieces of the various characters, but he has expanded his experimentation. Mutant trains currently sit on the track. Cranky's winch is attached to Percy's base and is towing part of James' tender behind him. Harold's head faces one way on Thomas' base, with Gordon facing the other direction. On the one hand, it's a little creepy and reminds me of the mutant toys that Sid made in Toy Story; yet I cannot deny that we are delighted with this new twist on creativity.

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Scooter likes to help around the house. One of his 'responsibilities' is to help water the plants. He immediately figured out how to use the spigots on the rain barrels and is careful to turn them off completely when he has filled his bucket. He has also taken to sweeping and will come ask for the broom when he spills a few snack crackers.

While "I do it" has been part of his speech for some time, it has become a much more frequent utterance. It's obvious that he's feeling much more confident in his abilities and now realizes just how much he can do. When Grandma was a little slow to get him the water he requested, he jumped down, grabbed her glass, went into the bathroom, filled the glass, and walked back out. Sure, he spilled some of it down his front, but he did it all by himself.

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Just because it's cute: Grandma made a very yummy dessert yesterday that involved a white cake. She offered to let Scooter lick the bowl. He looked at it and announced, "I want one where I put my finger in and it's chocolate."

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And another little bit of progress: We've been trying to get Scooter an appointment at a local pediatric clinic that was recommended to us because they treat a lot of children with autism. We had not had our call returned when using our Canadian phone number and so Trillian called again this morning--and got voice mail. But when we went to Trillian's afternoon appointment with her local doctor (in a new location), we noticed that the pediatric clinic was practically next door. So while Trillian went to her appointment, I went to get one for Scooter. At first, the receptionist told me they wouldn't have anything before October. I asked if she could recommend another pediatric clinic, in Capital City or Springfield, and mentioned that we had come to them because our son my be mildly autistic. She asked me to wait as she headed into the back. After a couple minutes, she came back and asked if we could come in early tomorrow--one of the founding pediatricians of the clinic would be able to fit us in then. So maybe, just maybe, we have our new pediatrician--at the very least, we should be able to get the official referral we need to make sure the developmental pediatrician is covered by insurance next month. Another little step, but it's encouraging.

Stretched

I do not cope well with uncertainty. My mind fragments itself, traveling down the various paths of 'what if' until I'm stretched wide and thin. Nearly to breaking.

Our house search is predicated on a series of these potentials and we are proceeding on a number of gambles. Hold out for that extra bedroom for that child we may or may not have, who may or may not be able to share with Scooter. Insist on a single-level layout, or no more than two levels, so that it will be accessible for Grandma, when it's possible, even likely, that most of the visits will be to their house. Look only at Springfield, not at Capital City, because of the services available for autistic children, services Scooter may or may not qualify for, may or may not need. (On the other hand, we have (almost) firmly ruled out Capital City, even knowing that their charter schools are performing very well, because what if they didn't have space for Scooter, what if they couldn't provide the support he needed, how would we find an affordable home in a safe elementary school district since the charter schools are only for middle and high school.) Stay at our current range, hoping to talk people down a bit on price, rather than find out just how much more the bank would pre-approve for our mortgage; make decisions now instead of when we know whether or not I'll get the job I'm applying for, a job that would add another very large amount to our buying power.

We don't have to make decisions yet. We don't have to make decisions during this trip. We can wait, see how much lower prices sink on their own, see what new houses come on the market, make a few more trips to visit Grandma and Grandpa, who will faithfully watch Scooter as we head up to Springfield yet again. There is nothing wrong with this. We can even wait until we're ready to move, put our stuff into storage, stay with Grandma and Grandpa, figure it out then.

But I don't deal well with uncertainty. And I fear my holes are beginning to show.

Exhausted

What's the best way to deal with a long day of travel with an over-excited 4-year-old and the jet lag of jumping a couple time zones? House-hunting the next day, of course.

We didn't head out until the afternoon and still managed to squeeze in 12 houses. Well, 11--if you don't count the one that none of us took more than two steps into before the smell of cigarette smoke was too overpowering to continue. It had been a promising house otherwise, but it was obvious that the owners smoke heavily indoors and that it would take more than a carpet shampooer and fresh coat of paint to get rid of that.

Out of the houses we saw, one remains a real possibility--one that Trillian had seen last time too and reported to me that she could actually imagine our family living in it. It's main defect is that the kitchen is rather small, especially in terms of counter space. And the layout is such that it would be hard to supplement with work space close enough. Of course there are a number of other little things to look into too--possible flood problems given its location on a hill, where exactly the one small bank of solar panels hooks into the system, a backyard in need of work. But it remains the best use of space for our family's needs.

(Odd, random anecdote: When we went to look at the house we ended up buying in the States, I scraped my knee on the wall, squeezing back to look at the date on the water heater. At the time, I silently told myself that was a bad sign--and yet we ended up with the house. Today, as I went up the fold-down ladder to the attic storage space, I scraped my knee (the other one, I think) on the "hand-rail" along the top half of the ladder. Hmmm.)

Our plan at this point is to look at a few houses that are just a bit above our price range--not because we're planning on upping our limit, but because the market is slow enough that we might be able to get a low bid accepted. It's also a chance for us to see if there is a noticeable difference between the current price point we're considering and the next one up.

As tends to happen when looking at a number of houses, we're getting a better sense of what precisely we want and the sorts of things we're willing to compromise on. We seem to be drawn to single-level homes. Not that I would immediately rule out anything with stairs, but we have yet to see a layout with multiple-levels that also delivers everything we want as well as the single-level we like. We've also noticed that stairs eat up a lot of square footage, and so many homes that claimed to be bigger than our favorite didn't feel like it.

House-hunting has also confirmed something for us: even with the frustrations we've faced, we still view our family as waiting for a second child. Little things came our of our mouths today. "This might work if we had two boys and they shared a room, but we can't be sure of that." "The huge difference in size between the second and third bedroom would be a point of contention between the children." "Scooter might be able to handle these stairs, but there's no convenient way to gate them for a baby."

My head is swirling with the implications of all of these thoughts and looming decisions. It's after midnight, by my body's clock if not the one here, and so I know better than to think I can figure any of it out right now. Hopefully by pouring some of it out here, I'll avoid exceedingly bizarre dreams in which the different houses splice themselves together or sprout new rooms until I no longer know where I am.

Global Warming Wednesday: Bloggers in action

A quick and dirty post since I'm frantically packing for our trip down to Capital City (and a weekend of house-hunting in Springfield). But there's something I wanted to bring to your attention.

BlogHers Act Canada has chosen its issue: ELIMINATE/REDUCE HARMFUL CHEMICALS IN FOOD/RETAIL PRODUCTS.

Go on over and have a look. Don't forget the comments too since people have been adding interesting links. There's also a schedule for the personal action items that will be encouraged throughout the year.

You can bet I'll be participating in both, even after I've headed back to the States. I've mentioned my love for the little actions before, so that part shouldn't come as any surprise, but I am equally motivated by the big topic that's been chosen. It's the one I voted for, even though I had suggested something else on the list.

The issue of harmful chemicals in our food and other products is a big concern for me for many reasons. Trillian and I go out of our way to buy organic when we can. There are some products, particularly some fruits and vegetables, that we will not buy conventional. There are others that we compromise on, oranges and other things with rinds that are supposed to be safer, but that still leaves me a little on edge. And I worry about chemicals that are considered 'food-grade,' even without any or dubious scientific support for their safety. I won't even get started on additives in plastic containers.

I also won't say much about the problem of unsafe toys, the fact that new recalls--usually for lead-based paint--seem to pop up all the time. I am not sure what to make of the fact that there is usually some statement about "unacceptable levels of lead." Unacceptable levels? How much is acceptable? How much would they normally allow on the toys that I give to my son?

It's that last thought that makes this issue even more personal. Our multiple Thomas trains have been sent back to the company and we're awaiting the return of "safe" ones--and some bonus, we're promised. But that doesn't keep my son from noticing that he's missing trains.

Now Scooter has a ridiculous number of trains (blame indulgent parents and the fact that every relative gets them for him). The three engines (and multiple freight cars, though those don't count as much) are nothing in the grand scheme of his railroad. But he has an incredibly sharp memory and is also a kid with a need for sameness. Last week we were talking about trains and numbers and colors, and when I mistakenly brought up #5--really, I know that Henry is #3, what was I thinking?--he immediately said, "James is lost." Today, as we drove to OT, he brought up Skarloey and Salty and said both were missing. Salty is not part of the recall, so I told him we'd look for him when we got home. For Skarloey, I decided to take a page from Bub and Pie and told him that Skarloey had to go away for a little bit but would come back later. His response: "And maybe James will come home soon too."

Edited to add: Trillian just reminded me that Salty got lost at Grandma and Grandpa's on the last visit and has not been found. So there's one we'll be repurchasing.

I want harmful chemicals out of our food and toys because these are things that shouldn't hurt us. To me that is a simple and logical desire. But I also want to get rid of harmful chemicals so that I don't have to sneak through my son's room and steal away his toys or worry anytime he gets a new gift that there is some unseen danger lurking in the paint.

A key to the gate

The post I was composing in my head as I ran errands around campus and downtown today was entitled "Stuck in the land of preliminary evaluations." I was pondering the fact that we have been feeling stuck in the system right now.

During Scooter's playgroup last week, when I spent so much time chatting with the other mothers,* I discovered that the other boy is in the process of being evaluated at the same place where we have our appointment for the end of October. She warned me of something I'd heard others allude to: the first appointment is more preliminary than anything else, a screening to decide if the child needs to move on to a more thorough evaluation. But she added a piece of information I had not been given: the time between her initial assessment (just this month) and the second evaluation is 6 months. When I do the math, that adds up to us not being here for the most important part.

This basic information was confirmed when I went to Scooter's speech therapy playgroup this week. I spoke with the coordinator afterwards, mentioned the recent frustration of having people dismiss our concerns, insist that Scooter is perfectly normal. She was supportive and, despite her frequent reminders that she cannot diagnose (though she has worked with so many autistic children that we trust her impression), spoke some to the changes she's seen in Scooter since the first time she observed him. She actually saw him at one of his lowest points; he was grinding his teeth and chewing on his clothing nearly non-stop, brought on, we're almost positive, by what we'd been told to do with him in speech therapy. At the time, she told Trillian "mild to moderate."

The coordinator began by saying, "He's so high-functioning" that people who only observe him casually might not pick up on the little things that are concerning. And she told us that her opinion is that he'll be diagnosed either as very high on the spectrum or PDD-NOS--and that the second is where she most expects he'll end up.

But the other side of what I found out in this conversation is that the playgroup he's currently in, that runs for only 5 weeks (and we're missing 2 because of vacation/house-hunting), counts as a block of treatment in place of the 8 weeks we thought he'd start in September. While the playgroup is generally good--and was apparently much better this week since the most disruptive child wasn't there this week--we had thought that this was in addition to a regular session.

So now we need to try and find some sort of speech therapy for the fall--out-of-pocket, of course.

These were the frustrations bouncing around my head until I got home. Trillian was chatting with her mother online. Turns out her mother had gotten in touch with the clinic in their general area that does developmental evaluations. She had spoken with the receptionist for a while, but couldn't provide all of the information they needed. So my mother-in-law passed the phone number along to us and I made the call. The receptionist immediately knew who I was and had the intake form ready to be filled in. She took down all of our information, including Trillian and Scooter's US insurance, and told us she'd work on getting pre-approval for the appointment.

Then she asked when we'd be in town next, which is for approximately the next three weeks (we'll be there in a couple days). I said that we would also be in and out of town for a number of things this fall and would be willing to make a trip for whenever we could get an appointment. She then apologized--they didn't have any appointments for our current trip--but they did have an opening the last week of September and then several more in October.

We're currently planning the logistics of this trip (do Scooter and Trillian extend their stay or do we make a trip back 2 weeks after our first trip?) and know that it will cost a bit either way. But insurance will likely cover the appointment itself and we may actually be a step closer to moving from hunches and suspicions to an actual diagnosis.

*We spent a lot of time lamenting the fact that occupational therapy is not covered for any of the possible diagnoses of our children, despite the fact that it is the one single therapy that has done the most good.